


Not Wrapped As You Expect

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anniversary, Background Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti - Freeform, Bad Advice, Exhibitionism, Facial, Gift Giving, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Make Up, Romantic Comedy, Strip Tease, Victor is a Goddamn Saint here, Yuuri Tries Really Hard :C
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: “Yuuri…if you can’t actually say the word anniversary, you’re a lost cause. You know that, right?”Wincing, Yuuri nods. “It’s just…surreal. I’ve spent my life admiring him, trying to earn his respect—““Jacking it to his Calvin Klein ad when you thought I couldn’t hear,” Phichit supplies with a cluck of his tongue.His wince becomes an outright grimace. “You knew?”“The building knew,” Phichit elaborates.When Yuuri needs a gift for his first wedding anniversary to Victor, he struggles to find what works until an unexpected party gives him a solid idea. For Heartbeats Zine 2018!





	Not Wrapped As You Expect

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the Heartbeats Charity Zine! We've raised over $500 for our gift-giving initiative and counting, good job everyone! Thank you if you donated, btw! 17 people have clean water due to your generosity which is incredible!
> 
> The theme of this project was to explore the love languages, and I chose gift giving and receiving for mine! The main objective of this story is that Yuuri's pain in the right context is hilarious to me and to also spread the Long-Haired Yuuri agenda. 
> 
> I have pamphlets!
> 
> Lyrics are from Dua Lipa's "Hotter than Hell."

During the off season, Yuuri habitually loses track of the days. His schedule’s always been too loose during that time, and without college to give him a set routine, he wakes up muddled and confused a lot. This morning is no exception when he notes the date before stumbling across the master bedroom floor to the shared en suite. 

His mother ships him six tubes at a time of his favorite Japanese toothpaste just as she did when he lived in Detroit: green tea and charcoal. His mouth drips foam, his over sized-stolen-from-Victor shirt slides down to expose one shoulder, his chin length hair is messy and sleep-tangled, and the date strikes him like lightning, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth as he stares at his reflection in horror.

In twenty-four hours, he and Victor will have been married for an entire year.

Yuuri hurriedly spits into the sink, wipes his mouth with a wet cloth, and runs to his cellphone. It’s later in the day than he gets up during the season, and he unlocks his mobile to a text from Victor. 

_Decided to let you sleep in while I take Makkachin for a long walk to that pastry shop you adore for a surprise. <3_

Yuuri smiles and falls in love for at least the 80000000th time. Then he hastily ties up his hair and calls Phichit. 

Phichit answers on the third ring. “Hi Yuuri!”

“Hey,” Yuuri says as he puts on actual pants over his boxer-briefs. “I need help with something, if you have a minute.”

“Sure,” Phichit answers. Yuuri hears the chittering of his Nasty Babies in the background. “What’s up?”

“Uh so, Victor and I have a thing this week,” Yuuri says. “’The um…the one year thing? And I need to figure out what to get him. I thought you might have an idea.”

There’s a minute of silence. 

“Yuuri…if you can’t actually say the word anniversary, you’re a lost cause. You know that, right?”

Wincing, Yuuri nods. “It’s just…surreal. I’ve spent my life admiring him, trying to earn his respect—“

“Jacking it to his Calvin Klein ad when you thought I couldn’t hear,” Phichit supplies with a cluck of his tongue.

His wince becomes an outright grimace. “You knew?”

“The building knew,” Phichit elaborates. 

How wonderful. That explains why the Kappa girls next door didn’t look him in the eye some days. Anyways. “Right, well, it’s our first anniversary, and I need to do something for him.”

“Traditionally you should do paper,” Phichit says. “Clocks to be more modern.”

“How’d you—Google exists,” Yuuri answers his own question. “Neither of those are really romantic, huh?”

“Nah,” Phichit says. “Why don’t you go full cliché ? I have it on good authority your man loves romantic clichés.”

“Stop talking about us with Chris,” Yuuri scolds.

“I most certainly will not,” Phichit says. “Anyways—cover the bed in roses, light candles, and listen to Al Green.”

This is a solid plan It is something Victor would love, and they’ll have mind-blowing sex. “Thanks, Phichit. You’re a peach.”

“As ever and always, I am mostly unappreciated in my time,” Phichit replies with a bored tone. “Good luck.”

Yuuri says goodbye and hangs up, then he calls the first florist he finds. Yes, they have four dozen red roses as well as two dozen in baby pink. Yes, they can take payment over the phone. Yes, they can deliver to their building’s concierge. No, tomorrow is not a problem.

Yuuri pays them happily, and they arrive the next day while Victor meets with Yakov regarding choreography and music selection. Yuuri changes the bed linens and lays the roses as artfully as he can manage. He lights candles, elegant white tapers and larger, rounder blush colored ones that smell like orchids. He turns on the smart home devices to play soft love ballads. He showers and changes into a shirt Victor adores on him and a pair of jeans that make his ass look spectacular. 

When he hears the door unlock and Victor come in, Yuuri smiles. “In here,” he says.

Victor enters the room, curious at first. It quickly morphs into a soft, loving gaze. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri beckons him close and when he’s within arm’s reach, they kiss. Yuuri makes quick work of dropping the light jacket off Victor’s shoulders followed by his soft, brushed cotton t-shirt. He puts him into a seated position on the bed, straddling his hips, and then he presses him down.

Victor immediately jerks with a yelp. “Yuuri! Yuuri, no, wait—“

Yuuri pulls back with his eyebrows furrowed as Victor holds up a rose.

A rose, still attached to its very thorny stem. 

The problem is obvious and needs an immediate remedy. “Oh my God, I didn’t think—“

Victor smiles. “It’s okay, darling. We’ll get the peroxide and the bandages. Then we’ll…take care of the bed and try again.”

Yuuri feels four centimeters tall. “I’m sorry. I wanted this to be memorable since its our first anniversary.”

“It’s okay, it’s the thought that counts,” Victor says as he kisses his temple. “Though, our anniversary is next month.”

Yuuri blinks five times. Victor rummages in the bathroom cabinets, returns with peroxide, gauze, and Neosporin, and that’s the end of attempt Number One.

——-

He now has — Yuuri pauses to look at the date — 25 days for a suitable gift.

Phichit was a mistake. 

Phichit is often a mistake, but Phichit was really a mistake.

Phichit’s deep-voiced cheese-snob other half, though…Yuuri feels like an idiot he didn’t just go to him first. He’s the one that’s his husband’s bestie outside of their rink mates. It’s so simple.

Yuuri texts Chris. _Can I bother you about something?_

Chris responds an hour later since time zones are horrible. _You’re never a bother. In fact I quite enjoy hearing from you._ And then he sends Yuuri a peach and an eggplant, and Yuuri sighs. Some things never change. 

_What should I do for our anniversary? He has everything._

_Infuriating, isn’t it? I give him gift cards or cash now. You know how much he adores good food though…take him out or cook him a nice meal._

That’s actually really smart, Yuuri thinks. _Good idea! Thank you, Chris!_

He sets to work with a shopping list from some food blog for the perfect, romantic meal. Chocolate, oysters, champagne, red meat for virility he supposes—making the food is complicated and so different from mastering the Katsuki katsudon or the Nikiforov borscht, but he manages including a fancy compound butter for the meat. The oysters sit, already shucked, on the table and waiting for Victor. He makes Alexa set the lighting to the soft color called cherry blossom as love songs serenade the flat. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Victor emerges from their home office after Skype calling sponsors for the two of them. He gently pokes at Yuuri’s nose, his fingers coated in white powder after. It’s flour, Yuuri figures out as Victor then gives his nose a kiss.“Yuuri, what’s all this?”

“I decided to do it early,” Yuuri offers with a shy smile. “Happy Anniversary.”

Victor looks at the resting steaks, the dense chocolate cake, the chilled champagne, and the oysters. He smiles, his cheeks full of a soft blush, and his eyes glimmering like a sunset sea. “You’re so good to me.”

Yuuri flushes and preens. “Come on, let’s eat.”

As Yuuri pours the wine, Victor takes an oyster. He gives it scrutiny before sliding the shellfish into his mouth, leaving an empty vessel behind. 

His expression immediately sours, and he runs to the water closet in the hallway. Yuuri follows in alarm. “Vitusha?”

The sounds of Victor retching are heard through the door, and Yuuri’s alarm becomes visible in his expression as well as the way he hops from one foot to the other. The toilet flushes and Victor rinses his mouth with water from the sink. 

“Vitusha?”

Victor opens the door with an ashen complexion. “…How long have the oysters been sitting out with the shells open?”

Yuuri thinks. “Well that was the first thing I did before I—“

Victor’s face is all that he needs to stop talking. 

W o w. 

“I…messed up again,” Yuuri says while making a face.

“You meant well,” Victor assures him. “But going forward, let’s eat raw oysters at restaurants, okay? Leave it to the professionals.”

“The steak’s fine, I promise!” Yuuri says. “It’s medium-rare like you always want, and the butter has whiskey in it!”

“I’m sure it’s splendid,” Victor says. 

Yuuri tries not to notice how his husband, who normally tears into food like he’s starving, slowly and carefully eats the rest of the meal.

———

His own best friend steered him wrong. His _beshert’s_ best friend steered him wrong. Yuuri has decided he needs an expert.

This is how he finds himself in Yakov’s office the following week. 

Yakov gives him an odd look. “You do know I’m divorced?”

Yuuri does know this. “Yes, but you lasted a long time before it ended, which means you got it a little right.”

Yakov sighs. “I suppose.” He contemplates for a bit. “I usually gave Lilia flowers and jewelry.”

Yuuri is unable to suppress a full-body shudder at the idea of flowers. Victor still has a few scabs. “Jewelry may work.”

“It’s generic,” a voice says in the doorway. “Vitya is far from generic.”

Yuuri and Yakov both look at Lilia Baranovskaya herself. Yakov also makes an offended sound. “You never complained!”

Lilia sighs and perches on the corner of his desk. Her hair is in her usual bun, but today she’s in an acid green blouse that matches her eyes. “Yuuri,” she says, and Yuuri snaps to attention like Minako drilled into him for…well, his entire life, essentially. “You can do better than a few diamonds and some plain roses.”

Yuuri’s eyes cast to Yakov and then back to Lilia. He’s kind of trapped — if he agrees with her, he’ll insult his secondary coach. If he brushes her off, he’ll insult his dance teacher. Yuuri sits primly and makes no movements whatsoever. 

Neither of them notice.

“You loved diamonds, you’re wearing earrings I gave you right now,” Yakov blusters.

Indeed, there are drops dangling from her ears that are both pristine and tasteful. Lilia sighs and purses her lips. “Yakov, you’re always so simple —“

Yuuri winces, because this is definitely a disaster. Yakov bellows some unforgivable sin from their marriage involving baking, Lilia fires back with leaving the trash in the bin when it was too full, and Yuuri judiciously nopes out of the office without being discovered. 

He pulls up jewelers on his tablet and bookmarks a few pieces — primarily nice watches but also some cufflinks and a tie bar. He heads home to Victor petting and playing with their beautiful girl in the living room. He coos to her in Russian Yuuri can’t catch since he’s too far away to hear the soft uttering Victor makes, but the adoration in his tone paints a clear picture. 

Yuuri watches them with his heart bursting. His family is so beautiful, he thinks, as he takes off his trainers and puts on his fluffy pig house slippers. “Vitusha, I have a question,” he says after kissing Victor and joining the cuddle pile on the floor. Makkachin wears a pink shirt that says _The Snuggle is Real_ in black script, a garment they saw and both knew instantly she had to have or they would die. “Do you like yellow or white gold better?”

Victor quirks up the right side of his mouth and points at their medals on display in a case by the formal dining table. “Well.”

Yuuri snorts. “You know what I mean.”

Victor absent-mindedly takes down the tie holding Yuuri’s hair into a low ponytail. He runs his hands through it, and Yuuri melts halfway into his lap. This move is one of his critical hit points when it comes to Victor turning him on. “Honestly, I don’t much care for things like that unless I’m going somewhere I feel it’s necessary, which—it rarely is. Besides, I have my _Dedushka’s_ Rolex. If I need a watch, there won’t be one better.”

The sexiness of their current position diminishes a bit at the implication, which Victor seems to realize at the same moment. 

“Darling,” Victor begins. “I simply mean do not go to the trouble. I don’t need baubles. The finest thing I can ever have in my hands is you.”

Yuuri knows he’s telling the truth, but he still wants to do something to mark this incredible milestone. He angles his head to kiss the underside of Victor’s jaw, and Makkachin drapes over their legs as Victor talks about his day. 

Maybe this idea is cursed, Yuuri wonders, but then Victor kisses him. 

Curses are okay as long as they’re together.

———

Yuuri’s Google history is now a certified mess and his targeted marketing online unnerves him to the point where he downloads five different ad blockers.

He considers sex toys until he knows Victor would want input. He considers a vacation until he sees how close it is to the season beginning. He thinks about a puppy and then remembers that Makkachin gets…salty, to say the least, when she thinks her Hooman Fathers love another dog more than her. He hasn’t established enough credit history in Russia for a car loan and yeah, that’s the same as the sex toys where Victor would want to give approval and commentary. 

Fancy restaurants, fancy cakes, fancy liquor, fancy anything seems hackneyed. Victor also has a higher net worth, which means if he wants it he can buy it without thinking too hard. 

Yuuri wonders about an outfit, like a nice sweater in a complimenting color that brings out Victor’s eyes or the subtle blond in his hair…but it’s so boring. Not as bad as socks, but it’s close enough the idea offends his sensibilities. 

He doesn’t know what to do — he’s ruined everything he’s tried. His other options are banal or unworthy. Maybe he should resign himself to his mother’s katsudon and a movie on the couch. 

Yuuri sighs and cracks his neck as he laces up his skates. His boots need breaking in and it’s the off season, so he wants to take advantage of having the rink all to himself. He glides out to do his figures wearing Victor’s Olympic team jacket. He carves eights and circles with his edges, losing himself in the routine and familiarity. His hair’s in his face, and he spits out a mouthful as he circles the center of the ice. 

When he feels sufficiently warmed up, he moves back to the center and begins his free program from last season. He hears “Yuri On Ice” in his head as he glides and spins, the only sound outside of his heart the slicing of his skates through the cold surface of the rink. He hears the violin join the piano before it drops out for a quiet, soft section he fills with an Ina Bauer and a soft drift across frozen water like an eagle soars above the tree tops. 

He finishes the program on the final note, not late or early even without the actual song, and he reaches as far as he can with not just his arms but his soul to a man who isn’t physically present yet carried with him always. 

Both of them had dated before each other and maybe liked the people enough to keep seeing them, but career and ambition are relationship killers at times, and none of the relationships went anywhere before now. First serious, first love, first last forever is incredible and a gift many would long to have, but it means Yuuri is not on top of it when it comes to intrinsically knowing how to celebrate these milestones. He just…doesn’t know what to do. It’s their first one as a married couple.

It _matters_.

A familiar, aggressive slicing of blades draws near, and Yuuri glances up to see Yuri Plisetsky had the same idea as him. “Move, Katsudon,” he says with minimal annoyance. 

“Sorry, Yurio,” he says as he leaves the center so Yuri can do his own work.

Yuri heads to the outer edge and does a quick Quad Salchow. “Why are you so gloomy? Did Victor only kiss you 48 times today instead of 50?”

Yuuri doesn’t give him the satisfaction of rising to his blatant bait. He performs the “Eros” step sequence. “No.”

Yuri slides and sprays him with ice chips. It’s routine by now, and Yuuri just wipes the slush off his pants with a gloved hand. “What gives? You’re serious when you practice but today you look like someone died.” He pauses with a grimace. “Uh did some—“

“No,” Yuuri assures with a laugh. “No, I just have a bit of a conundrum, and I can’t find the right answer.”

Yuri shrugs and skates off. “When I get stuck that way I go back to the start. Usually helps me unravel things.”

When he comes back into Yuuri’s orbit he sprays him a second time, because at the end of the day he is a literal Ice Tiger Cub. Yuuri doesn’t complain or brush it off because the idea has been present and obvious this entire time. 

_Back to the start!_

Back to the moment that got him Victor’s attention and interest, back to the catalyst for Victor to move to Hasetsu, coach him, and their falling in love. The moment that brought them here, that showed them the missing halves that could only be filled with their hearts.

Yuuri skates to the rink opening. He puts on the blade guards and walks to the locker room. After a quick rinse, he puts on his glasses and walks home from Yubileyny. St. Petersburg summers are far milder than Hasetsu, and Yuuri enjoys the extra daylight after the darkness of the long winter. 

The doorman lets him in with a smile and a “Good evening, Yuuri!” as Yuuri smiles back and nods. The lift takes him to the top floor, and he unlocks their front door with practiced ease. After hanging his keys on the same hook as Victor’s, he takes a turn into their bedroom and gets himself situated. He almost didn’t bring the clothes, but he’s glad he did. They’ll come in handy in a couple of hours.

For now he hears Victor calling from their kitchen, and Yuuri settles at their nook to eat a home cooked dinner made by his husband.

——-

Picking the music is the hardest part, but a singer Otabek recommended and Leo seconded is the best option. He puts on the costume, which fortunately still fits as well as it did during his last pole competition in Detroit, fights with his hair for far too long before he pulls half of it back from his face, and limbers his hips with a couple abductor stretches.

Yuuri sets a chair by itself in the living room. Alexa makes the lights red and amber. He made a playlist of ten songs or so beginning with Otabek and Leo’s pick. Now that he’s satisfied with the ambience, he notes that his husband is…absent. “Babe?” Yuuri calls in that voice, the one Victor gets mad at him if used in front of company because of the way it makes his blood burn through his veins.

Victor hesitantly comes into view. “Is this…another surprise?” he asks.

Then he looks at Yuuri and the trepidation disappears. He bites his bottom lip, his eyes on the black glimmering spandex that covers most of Yuuri’s top half — most because it has asymmetrical cut outs showing off his abs and pecs in an artsy manner. He also wears tight hot pants made of the same fabric, and he has thick red eyeliner and shimmering highlighter over his cheeks. 

Yuuri smiles. “Your seat, please.” He stands behind the chair and gestures to it.

Victor follows instructions. Yuuri bends over him, the loose parts of his hair brushing against his cheeks, and he says, “Happy Anniversary, Vitusha.” After stepping back about a meter, he turns and says, “Alexa, play ‘That First Year Thing’.”

The music starts, electric rhythm and thumping bass, and Yuuri moves with his back to Victor first as a tease. 

_He calls me the devil—I make him wanna sin._  
_Every time I knock, he can't help but let me in._  
_Must be homesick for the real, I'm the realest it gets…_  
_You probably still adore me with my hands around your neck—_

Yuuri shimmies like he’s paid to, his movements nothing less than leonine grace and power. He bites his Russian Red-coated top lip and makes sure to hold his eye contact when he edges closer. He can’t touch Victor, and likewise Victor can’t reach him unless he gets up, which Yuuri won’t permit. Yuuri angles his hips so they gyrate in a way that means Victor can see every millimeter of what this dance is doing to him. 

The careful way Victor adjusts his posture and the arrangement of his legs paints a similar picture. Yuuri’s pleased his efforts are not unnoticed or unappreciated.

The top has a side zipper and a wide collar with a lot of give, and Yuuri sways as he undoes the fastening. It comes off easily, and he leans into Victor’s space and wraps it around the back of his neck like a silk scarf. He feels Victor inhale his aftershave but before he can try to kiss him Yuuri’s gone, strutting to the drum machine with his back to his husband.

Yuuri knows full well that Victor will never admit the whimper he makes at this loss, but with the view of his ass in these shorts it was inevitable.

_Cause we're hot like hell; does it burn when I'm not there?_  
_When you're by yourself, am I the answer to your prayers?_  
_I'm giving you that pleasure heaven, and I'll give it to you._

_Hotter than hell, hotter than hell!_

Yuuri turns to face him once more and dances closer. He rests both of his hands on the chair arms for leverage as he sways and moves like he is music and sex made flesh. Victor closes his eyes; he’s near enough that Yuuri can feel his body temperature, and it’s definitely rising. Yuuri laughs a little, and Victor grumbles as Yuuri’s hands slide down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. 

Slowly, so slowly, Yuuri undoes the button and unzips the fly, letting gravity do the rest as he steps out of them. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the non-Yuuri-regulation thong underneath, the last half-hearted attempt at preserving any modesty.

Victor audibly swallows and undoes the top three buttons of his shirt while fanning himself. Yuuri bends close enough to kiss, though he’s careful not to, and Victor groans. “Yuuri, can I—“

“That’ll cost extra,” Yuuri says, his tone as smooth as a fine Lagavulin single malt. “I don’t think you can afford me.”

“No price is too high,” Victor replies. “I think I dreamed you into being.”

Yuuri breaks the no touching rule with a bright smile as he uses two fingers to lift Victor’s chin. His eyes are full of starlight, burning like the hottest, brightest heavenly bodies known to man. Yuuri pets his hair with his other hand, and Victor melts. “Good boy,” he says to assure him.

The track switches to something heavier and sexier, and then Yuuri’s hand in Victor’s hair scrapes his scalp just so. He shivers with intensity as Yuuri’s thumb traces his lower lip. He sits, arranged so he’s straddling Victor’s lap, his ass rubbing against the obvious, incredibly big erection tenting Victor’s pants. 

“I’m going to die,” Victor whispers.

“Maybe a little,” Yuuri quips. “That’s the saying right? A little death?”

“Yuuri, please—“ Victor begs.

Yuuri rolls his hips with the beat, and Victor’s voice strangles in his throat. Yuuri’s ready to get it on just as much, but it’s more fun this way. He unbuttons Victor’s shirt, leaving it open and mapping the long-memorized territory of his chest. He traces a constellation of freckles on Victor’s collarbone. 

Victor looks as though he’s ascending.

Yuuri drops smoothly onto his knees, penned in by Victor’s thighs. He maintains eye contact as he mouths his cock through the pants, soaking them with his spit. Victor’s moaning is agonized; Yuuri knows he wants no barriers between them, and when he hears Victor’s noises turn needy in lieu of frustrated, he unzips and unbuttons the pants with his teeth. He pulls the briefs down the same way, Victor sighing in relief, and then Yuuri takes just the head between his lips, savoring the salty tang of his pre-come. 

“Can I touch you, _kotenok_?” Victor begs. 

He’s barely done anything, and he’s already being called a kitten. That’s an excellent sign since Yuuri usually isn’t called _kotenok_ until Victor’s well and truly consumed by lust. “My hair only. Don’t do anything else.”

Victor’s hands stroke through and grip the long, black strands. Victor doesn’t push (he would never) but it’s tacit non-verbal encouragement. Yuuri sinks down, down, down until the thatch of dark gray hair at the base of Victor’s cock tickles his nose. He pulls back up, running his tongue in circles over his head, and then he pumps with his fist as he quickly decimates Victor’s remaining willpower. 

“Let me come,” Victor begs. 

Yuuri doesn’t speak, but he does hum low and guttural, vibrating around Victor’s shaft. It’s all he needs since Victor is so tightly wound, and his cock empties into Yuuri’s mouth in several large spurts. Yuuri lets a fair amount dribble down his face like he’s new to giving head, but Victor loves marking him this way. Yuuri removes his mouth, looks up at Victor from under his lashes, and licks the corner of his mouth. There are lipstick stains on Victor’s dick but it’s not like it’s the first time.

Won’t be the last, either.

Yuuri licks his hand five times with a great amount of emphasis before freeing his own erection and jacking off. He makes sure his head’s thrown back so Victor has a clear view of the ecstasy on his face as his hips cant up and down in time with the movements of his fist. At some point it becomes more like he’s fucking his hand, and before he can fully prepare, he comes with a yelp, the hot fluid landing in pearly strands over his bare stomach and thighs. 

Victor pants and utters a frustrated sound as a thick trickle of come exits his half-hard shaft. 

Yuuri laughs as his body slumps from the release, and he wipes his clean hand across his mouth, smearing it in the crimson lipstick. “You like it, babe?” he breathes.

“Uh huh,” Victor manages. His hair’s a disaster, his face is pained and blissed out…he’s been thoroughly destroyed. 

Yuuri smiles. He pets Victor’s thigh. “Good.”

A few hours and orgasms later, Yuuri lies on the living room throw rug marked in carpet burns and love bites. Victor is his Little Spoon, his own body covered in similar bits of road rash. They took a break in the middle for water and to feed each other cold leftovers like savages, and then Yuuri was dragged back to the floor with three fingers playing his prostate like the keys of a piano. 

“Was this really good?” Yuuri asks. He pets Victor’s hair soothingly before kissing the crown of his head. “We never did buy the pole, so I had to make do.”

“It was perfect,” Victor answers. “The best gift will always be you, darling. And my gift, an overnight stay at the Rocco Forte—we can revisit this more, if you wish.”

Yuuri smiles. “I’d love nothing better.”

———

The rink is busy the next morning as the season inches ever forward. Georgi shows Yuuri a beautiful photoset he took of his ladylove, Natalia, and Mila snoops over their shoulders while texting Sara Crispino about her last date, which sounds disastrous if Mila’s account is accurate. Yuri skates to the group and gives Yuuri a raised eyebrow. “You look less bothered,” Yuri says.

Yuuri pauses with a hair elastic in his mouth. “Oh. Yeah, you were right. I went back to the start for the gift, and it…” He coughs. “It had good results.”

Victor skates by and gives Yuuri a more heated look than normal for when they’re out and about, and Yuuri responds by giving him one back.

Yuri looks back and forth between them and gags. “Ugh. I’m never giving you advice again.”

Yuuri gives him a fond look. “Oh, Yurio, I just—“

“No,” Yuri reiterates as he leaves. “No, man, I don’t want to hear about Victor and… _that_. Ever.”

Mila raises an eyebrow. “But if we remove Victor from the equation…?”

Yuuri gives Mila a confused look as Yuri stares at her with such baffled disdain it’s flat out comical. His face turns almost purple, and he flees without offering even a token comeback. 

Mila shrugs and gives Yuuri a smile. “It’s just fun to shred his remaining dignity.”

Yuuri decides he can’t really argue with her nor does he care to. Yuuri looks across the rink at his husband, who moves a little more carefully than typical, and he fills with love and happiness. 

Yuuri contemplates the Youtube videos he’s been watching of lap dances as well as the email draft saved to his personal account for costume brainstorming with Chris. After all, Victor’s birthday will be here before either of them know it.


End file.
